


The Road So Hard

by DeansDirtyPiehole



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Choking, Cock Slut, Cock Worship, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Cunnilingus, Dean Winchester Gives Oral Sex, Dean Winchester Has a Large Cock, Dean Winchester Loves Pie, Dean Winchester Talks Dirty, Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester is a God, Dean Winchester's Big Beautiful Cock, Dean Winchester's Fine Ass, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, F/M, Flirting, Flirty Dean Winchester, Love, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Naked Dean Winchester, Oral Sex, Pie, Pining, Plot, Porn, Porn With Plot, Punishment, Reader Loves Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Sam Winchester Is a Great Brother, Sex, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Slapping, Slut Shaming, Smut, The Impala (Supernatural), Vaginal Fingering, cherry pie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-10-13 19:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17493722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyPiehole/pseuds/DeansDirtyPiehole
Summary: All you want is for Dean Winchester to call you Baby, get inside you, and ride you.But it's one hell of a long, hard road that gets you there...





	1. Cherry Lips and Birthday Dick

It's Halloween. You're finally eighteen. And you swear to yourself that tonight you are finally, _finally_ , going to get fucked by Dean.

Your fingers tremble at the thought as you twist up your cherry chapstick, swipe the sweet pink balm across your lips. You pucker up at your reflection and pout at yourself for a second. It's just not red enough, not shiny enough, not slutty enough—you pluck a tube of scarlet lip gloss from your purse and slather on a juicy squirt to brighten up the subtle cherry-tinted layer. Flash yourself a sultry smile in the motel bathroom mirror. _There. Much better._

You've been on the road with the Winchesters for as long as you can remember. Living with them as their little sister. Day to day, case to case, from the middle of one nowhere to the next, three godforsaken souls hunting and scraping your way through this weary world.

And it's the only way of life you've ever known. You have no memory of any other life, prior to that. Apparently you once had an actual family, a mom and a dad—a dad who had been like a brother to John Winchester. No blood relation, though. Just wartime buddies, then hunting buddies for some time, until your father met your mother and swore off that way of life. But denounce it though he did, that way of life was always bound to be the death of him. It almost killed you, too, that night when the demons had come, but John had swept in just in time to save you, promising your parents to protect you and to love you like a daughter. He had kept that promise all too well, since then. You owed your life to him.

You'd been too young to realize or recall when your first father died, but when John Winchester had passed a few years back, you had been old enough to feel the full weight of that pain. He wasn't your father, not really—but he was in all the ways that mattered, and in all the ways that hurt.

Then there were your brothers. Through the years, Sam has become your brother in all the ways that matter. And Dean has become your brother in all the ways that hurt.

It hurts because you don't fucking want Dean to be your brother. Though it does provide a damn good reason to spend so many hours of every day with him—to steal glimpses of his stupidly cute bedhead in the wee hours of the morning, to bump against his slippery body whenever he happens to be stepping out of the shower while you're brushing your teeth at the sink, to let your eyes longingly linger on the lashes that so lustrously fringe his and gleam like pure gold in the sunlight streaming in through Baby's windshield when you're sitting right beside him while he's driving... though you love every second of being so close to him, still you'd gladly give up all of that to be anything other than his sister.

In a heartbeat, you'd trade places with any of the girls that Dean has saved while working on a case, most of whom end up desperate to thank him in the dirtiest ways. Or with any cheap slut that he's ever brought home from a bar for a rough one-night fuck. Hell, you'd even kill to be one of the busty Asian beauties lucky enough to have her picture splattered with Dean's come all over the pages of his porno magazines.

That's the way you want Dean. You want him to explode his sweet load all over your fucking face. You've wanted him in sinful ways for far too long, ever since you were too young to even understand the heat that he awakened deep inside you, let alone to think that it was wrong. You'd realized more with each passing year just how wrong your dirty urges were. You were his sister, blood or not, and even if you could pretend that didn't matter, you were always too much younger. But the wrongness of it all only intensified your hunger. Over time, you had watched as he'd grown from the most angelically adorable boy you'd ever seen, into a dangerously handsome devil of a teen, and finally into a strong, chiseled god of a man with a body made for fucking and a face so fucking perfect that the fact that you are not supposed to kiss it makes you want to fucking scream.

Breaking your wandering train of wayward thoughts, your phone starts vibrating and you glance down to see 'Dean' flashing on the screen. Try to ignore how even just the sight of his name sets your own insides on vibrate. Bite back the urge to shove the buzzing thing inside yourself and get off to his incoming call because that's the closest you'll ever come to having him fuck you.

 _No; no, it's not_ , you silently remind yourself as you reach to answer it. _It's not. Dean is going to fuck you tonight. He is finally going to stop being your big brother for a minute. He won't be able to resist_.

You put him on speaker so that you can use both of your free hands to do your hair. "Hey, Dean."

"Where the hell are you, kid?"

A scowl crosses your cherry-glossed lips. _Kid_. Dean calls you that as often as he can. Something tells you that he won't let up now just because you're an adult. The fact that you're planning on pigtails as your hairstyle for tonight probably won't help. "Still at the motel. Sam hasn't come by yet."

"Great," Dean grumbles. "Well, when he gets there, can you slap him in the face for being late? I'm in Hell all alone and this place fucking blows."

You're well aware that he's referring not to hell itself, but rather to the so-named nightclub where you three have decided to stake out to catch a few demons tonight. But you pounce on the chance to steer the conversation in a playful direction. "Yeah, I've heard perdition ain't no picnic—but you know you had it coming, Dean. Heaven would never admit such a dick."

"Well, you got that right," he replies, playing into it, and you can hear the sinful little snicker on his lips. "The angel I banged last night told me it's just too damn big."

His words instantly make your mouth water. Gulping down the drool that's pooling in your throat, glad that Dean can't see it over the phone, you divide your hair down the middle to tug each half through one of the cheap hair ties that you bought from the kids' section of the drugstore earlier today. They're green elastics with two bright red plastic balls affixed to each, the kind moms use to make their little girls look cute. They look like cherries.

"But here in Hell, I'm sure I'll find a place to fit," Dean states as you pull your pigtails into place to frame your face. "Plenty of dirty little devils who can take it."

 _None deeper than me_ , you wish you could tell him. _No dirty little bitch has ever been so hungry for your dick_. Instead you try to keep it clean. "You know we do have a job tonight, Dean. We're supposed to be exorcising demons. Not having sex with them."

"Sex is always good exercise, kid," he quips, chuckling at his own pun like the adorable idiot he is.

"Guess I wouldn't know," you mutter under your breath, briefly letting yourself bemoan the fact that you're eighteen and haven't yet lost your virginity because you know that you could never come to anyone but Dean.

"What's that?" he asks.

You dismiss it quickly, grateful for the crunch of gravel outside signaling that Sam is finally pulling in. "Nothing. I think Sam's here. But hey..." you bite your lip and pause before releasing it. "You still haven't said it all day, Dean."

He pauses in turn; you can picture, can practically hear, his tongue flicking out over his plump lower lip. You wish you could taste it. "Said what? Happy Halloween?"

 _Honk._ The Impala's horn sounds softly through the window, and only then do you notice that Sam had texted you a minute ago to let you know he was arriving. Your phone must've alerted you when he did, but apparently you'd missed it while you were busy drooling at the thought of Dean's dick. You give yourself a final once-over in the mirror, pleased enough with the balance of slutty and sweet that you've somehow pulled off. You actually look sort of pretty, you think to yourself. By no means the female equivalent of Dean—but that's all right, because neither is any girl you've ever seen. _No one could ever be._ Grabbing your purse and phone, you turn off the bathroom lights and head toward the closet to throw on your coat.

Once your skimpy costume is all covered up and you're set to step outside into the chilly autumn air, you switch off speaker mode and hold the phone up to your ear. There's been silence on the line for the past several seconds; Dean breaks it. "You still there, kid?"

"Yeah, about to head out," you say as you walk toward the door. "You know, Dean—tonight you might have to stop calling me kid."

"Bullshit. I'll call you whatever I want," he growls, and you can hear the sexy smirk behind the word he utters next. "Bitch."

You swoon at just how hot he always sounds when he says it, relieved that he can't see the silly smile on your face. You're convinced that the word 'bitch' was made for Dean Winchester's lips. "That I can live with."

"Really?"

 _Yes, really, you big fucking dick. Call me your bitch, your slut, your whore. I want nothing more. I fucking love it._ Forcing the thoughts from your mind and the smile off your face, you step out the door. "Yup. Okay, I'm heading out."

"Okay. And hey..."

You lock the motel door and stand there for a second before heading to the car, trying to hear the distant murmur of Dean's breathing through the phone pressed to your ear, wondering if he will ever have any idea of just how desperately in love with him you are.

"... happy birthday," he says. "I know I should've said it first thing in the morning, it's—it's not like I forgot or anything, it's just... I guess a part of me was..."

"It's okay, Dean," you assure him as you start toward the Impala, already hating yourself for shutting him up, your mind racing with all of the ways that he could've and should've—but honestly probably never would've—finished that sentence. You had stopped him out of some selfless impulse to spare him the embarrassment of filling in the blank with utter bullshit. Dean's on-the-spot lies never make any sense. "Thanks for the happy birthday. See you soon in Hell, okay?"

"Yup. See you soon, bitch."

You swoon again a little, on the inside, but on the outside you remain cool and unfazed as you slip into the front seat next to Sam. That's how you've always been, with him: at ease and comfortable, every nerve beneath your skin completely free from tension, safe and sound and sane. Just like a sister should feel with her brother. You're thankful for that—to have a brother who is just this, nothing more and nothing less. Thankful for one thing that's clear, for one thing that feels right, in your sad fucked up life.

"Thanks for picking me up," you say with a smile as you pull the door shut. "Dean told me to slap you in the face for being late, but I'm not a hardass like he is, so your face is safe."

He smiles back with a silent laugh. "Thanks. Though maybe he'll slap you if he finds out you disobeyed."

You try to hide the way that notion turns you on. _All kinds of wrong._ "So let's keep it our secret then, okay?"

"Sure," he agrees, innocently, though a teasing tone enters his voice with his next words. "If you really want it that way."

 _Well, shit._ If there's one thing that _does_ make you feel uncomfortable around Sam, it's the fact that he knows you too well and has probably seen right through you all these years, the way you radiate desire every time your desperate gaze devours his big brother. Sam usually plays cool about it, for everyone's sake. But apparently not today. _What, is it because you're finally eighteen? Now Sam no longer has to pretend to respect the privacy of your transparent slutty fantasies? Like the fact that you would die to have Dean slap your face and fucking choke you while his balls slap up against your ass over and over again as he_ _drives_ _his thick cock deep inside your dripping pussy?_

You'll feign innocence for as long as Sam will let you, for what's left of your sisterly dignity. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I _want_ the wrath of Dean? I'm a hunter who's fought fifty shades of monsters, but angry Dean, that—that's a whole other level of beast." _One that I really wish would ravage me._

"Fifty shades, huh," Sam snickers, not feeling generous enough to let your Freudian slip of a soft porn reference go unnoticed. "And how would you know about that beast? You've never been on the receiving end."

"Yeah, but I've seen him unleash it on you, and if you don't hit the gas real soon, it'll sure as hell happen again."

"True. But... I do have a good excuse for being late," Sam claims, reaching into the backseat to retrieve a white paper box, which he then extends toward you. "I was picking up your birthday cake."

"Aw, Sammy, you shouldn't have," you respond with a big grin as you set the box down on your lap to open it. Silence ensues when you do. _He really, seriously shouldn't have._ "Um, Sam. This is a penis cake."

"Really? Whoops. They must've mixed up the order with one for a bachelorette party or something."

On the pale pink, cock-shaped cake, " _Happy 18th [Y/N]!_ " has been scrawled in creamy white frosting. You shoot Sam an unamused stare, brows raised. "Right—for some chick who's about to get married for the eighteenth time and just happens to share my name?"

Sam shrugs, sharp eyes twinkling with mischief. "Call it a freaky Halloween coincidence."

"The only thing freaky is that you would actually order this for me," you grumble, closing the lid and shoving the box back into the backseat. "I'm not even going to try to interpret whatever sick message you're sending."

That's what you tell him. But the truth is that you've already interpreted it. You know that Sam is signaling that he can tell exactly what you really want on your eighteenth. In a weird way, this is him letting you know that he's okay with your sexual hunger for Dean. Giving you his blessing, as it were, in his role as the middle brother.

It's quite twisted, but you know Sam as well as he knows you, and you're positive that you're reading this cake just the way he intends. Your pride won't allow you to let him know this, so you have to act oblivious. You have to pretend.

"Chill out, [Y/N]. No subtext," he insists, naturally seeing through your bullshit but nice enough not to call you out on it. "It's just a joke gift. An adult joke, now that you're all grown-up. Even if you don't look it."

You can feel your cheeks redden with indignation. "What do you—"

"I mean the pigtails," Sam clarifies, nodding at your juvenile hairstyle. "Honestly, what the hell is with those cherry hair ties?"

 _Shit_ —you didn't want to have to talk about it. Suddenly self-conscious of how your bare legs are mostly exposed underneath your coat, you shift a bit to pull it further down your thighs. "They're part of a costume. I spend pretty much every day in leather jackets and ripped jeans and ugly boots, so now that we'll be at a Halloween party in Hell, I figured I may as well use the excuse to wear something cute."

"And by cute, you mean slutty," Sam concludes, mouth curving up into a knowing smile. "Let me guess. Cherry pie."

"Shut up and drive."

Of course, he's right. As Baby rumbles out onto the road, your thoughts drift toward the reason why you're dressed as pie. It's not just because Dean loves it. It's because of what happened that one fine day, some time ago, the sweetest day of your entire life— _the piehole incident._ You remember every fucking second of it. You lick your cherry-flavored lips and fondly reminisce...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that :) For those who have read the "Piehole" one shot that I posted earlier, the next chapter will be mostly similar, but it will be slightly different from that teaser version. And there's plenty more to come afterward!
> 
> Kudos and comments are awesome and always much appreciated <3


	2. The Piehole Incident (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very similar to the "Piehole" one shot that I posted earlier, with a few differences from that teaser version. 
> 
> Whether or not you've already read that one shot, I hope you'll like this chapter :)

It's effortless to reminisce about the piehole incident. It's been just over a year since then. The memory begins in the Impala with Sam, just as you are now... _just like this..._

 

***************

 

"Fuck. I forgot my phone."

Sam rolls his eyes and groans, evidently in no mood to turn Baby around. "Seriously, [Y/N]? Again?"

"Yes, Sam, _again_. Sue me," you snap as you shove your hand into the other pocket of the leather jacket folded in your lap. You know it's not in there but you check anyway, compulsively. "It's not as if I'm used to carrying a phone. It's only been a few months. Thanks to Dean's stupid rule of waiting till I turned sixteen to even let me have one."

"It wasn't stupid. He didn't want you to start sexting with monsters, remember?"

_Ugh. Of course you remember._ You were thirteen when you'd stumbled into a shapeshifter sheathed in the likeness of Dean. Well trained by your badass hunter brothers, even at that young age, it hadn't taken you long to see through the impostor's disguise with the help of some silver and realize that he was a monster. But before you could do anything about it, he had sworn that he was harmless... and that he just wanted to give you the best night of your life. The hormonal teenager you'd been, turned on in the most twisted way by the promise of sin with this sick creature wearing Dean's skin, you had been too tempted to resist. The shifter had given you his number.

Then, as soon as the real Dean discovered what had happened, he had tracked down the son of a bitch and filled his chest with a shitload of silver bullets. You remember wondering why the bullets were all gone when he'd come home. You had overhead Sam confront him about how many shots he had taken. "What, you think I missed? As if." Dean had spat back at him. "I was just fucking _pissed_."

And he'd had every reason to be. After that, you were lucky that Dean even let you have a phone when you turned sixteen, really. The shifter incident is not a very pleasant memory.

You scowl at Sam as he keeps on driving ahead. "Don't remind me."

"Well, don't make me. You're the one who keeps forgetting the damn thing."

"Look, I'm sorry for fucking up, _again_ , but can you please just turn the car around?"

"What the hell for? You don't even need it, [Y/N]. We'll be back before dark, and if Dean needs to reach us, he'll just call me."

He's right, obviously. You and Sam have just driven out today to attend to some loose ends that came up from a nearby job, while Dean hangs back at the motel, waiting as bait for a monster that he's expecting to come looking for him there. You're not a big fan of this arrangement, but Dean had insisted on it, saying that he could use some 'me time' anyway. _Probably involving Magic Fingers or Casa Erotica_ , you figure. _Or both at once. Leave it to Dean Winchester to feel confident about his ability to gank some unholy creature even if it barges in on him when he's in the middle of an orgasm. He could probably just use his left hand to kill the thing while his right hand remains wrapped tight around his cock as he pumps out every last drop of his hot, creamy come..._

These wayward thoughts are enough to bring you close to an embarrassing orgasm of your own. You bite your lip, clearing your throat to cover up a moan. "I know. And I know I've only had it for a few months, but... well, I'm a millennial, so I feel naked without my phone."

Sam shoots you a quick side-eye that's _so_ full of judgment. You're well aware that he has every right to judge you not only for your recent millennial statement, but also for the fact that you're sort of uncomfortably squirming. "Yeah, apparently. Is that what's got your panties in a twist? You know if you wet that leather seat, Dean's gonna be real pissed."

_Oh, God—that's not helping at all. Dean can twist your panties any day. And he gets you wet always. And he's so fucking hot when he's pissed off..._ You clear your throat again and try to stop yourself from wriggling with arousal."Shut up, Sam. It's just cramps," you lie shamelessly. It's not that time of the month for you, but Sam doesn't know that, so you can easily get away with this excuse. "And you should know better than to make me cranky when—"

"Okay, okay," Sam instantly caves, suddenly swerving the car into a sharp U-turn, not needing to hear another word. "Enough said."

You grin, glad that the clever play scored you an easy win. Sam and Dean may be big boys, but they're not very mature when it comes to dealing with girl things. Like your monthly cramps. And like the fact that you want Dean's dick in your ass. _Though that's not really a girl thing_ , you remind yourself—Dean Winchester is a fucking magnet for everything. Every ass on earth is probably desperate for his dick. In fact, much to his chagrin, he gets hit on more often by dudes than by chicks.

In any event, your burning need to get pounded in every hole by Dean is not something you'll ever admit to either of your brothers. You've always tried, with all your might, to hide behind an innocent facade as little sister Winchester. Yet you're sure that they can see right through it. They may be stupid, but they're not _that_ stupid.

As Sam pulls up to the motel a few minutes later and puts Baby in park, you breathe in deep and bite your lip. Hard. _Dean is most likely having some 'Dean time' in there. If that means what you think it means... if you walk in on him jerking off to porn on pay-per-view, fist sliding up and down his massive cock from base to head, his beautiful body bare naked and trembling on a mechanically vibrating bed..._ you're pretty sure you will immediately drop dead.

And you're completely happy with that possibility. Hungry for it, really. _What a sweet way to die that would be..._

"Don't dawdle in there," Sam grumbles as you swing the passenger door open.

You crinkle your brows at him, your dirty mind darting to thoughts of dawdling your tongue all over every inch of Dean's delicious dick, hoping that Sam can't tell. " _Dawdle_?"

"It means to waste time—"

"Oh, shove it, Nerd Queen. I know what the word means. Remember you promised to stop giving me vocab lessons when I turned fourteen?" you recall as you shift to get out of the car. "How and why would I even _dawdle_ anyway?"

"I—I dunno," your walking dictionary of a brother mutters. "Just _don't_."

You're not about to make him any promises on that one.

Shutting the car door behind you and hastening toward the motel room, you fumble with your key, almost dropping it like the dumb piece of shit that you've become all of a sudden. You shove it hard into the lock, trying not to imagine that the lock is your mouth and the key is Dean's cock. _Fuck._

_Keep it together, bitch. Keep it together_ , you tell yourself as you twist the key. At this completely inconvenient moment, it occurs to you that you probably should've used Sam’s phone to call or text Dean a few minutes ago, as a heads up, just out of basic courtesy. In case he's in the middle of something that requires a little privacy.

It's too late for that, though. The key is in the lock. Shoving and twisting hard. _Fuck courtesy. Fuck privacy. You just need this damn door to be open already._

You push the door open and hold your breath as your eyes immediately fly toward Dean's bed. Only to find that he's not in it. _Shit_.

But then you hear him. That husky rumble of a voice that fills your every dream, deep and rich like all the whiskey that he drinks, the sound of sin, coming from the other end of the room. " _Fuck_ , [Y/N]...!"

Your gaze follows the sound. And your heart stops as your jaw drops someplace far beneath the ground.

Dean Winchester is standing there, before your eyes, stark naked, with his huge dick buried to the hilt in a sweet cherry pie.

At the sight, you're pretty sure you've died. Even after all these years living with Dean, you've never actually laid eyes on him fully undressed like this, other than in your smutty fantasies. It's been a damn shame, but you're sure that he wants it that way. Probably feels guilty about how much he turns you on. He knows he does. You can tell, because from what you've heard, Dean isn't shy—whenever you're not around, Sam apparently sees him naked all the time—but you? Not once. That's just not what Dean wants. You've seen most of him, yes, but nothing in that sacred space above the thighs, below the hips. He's done one hell of a job keeping his precious gifts hidden from little sis.

But here you are now. Seeing _everything_. _His sculpted ass, his bulging balls, and..._ in response to the moan that slips out of your mouth just now, Dean's hips jerk in a spastic thrust, causing his raging hard cock to push up and burst free through the flaky soft crust. _Holy mother of fucking fuck._

Neither of you says a word at first. Then the door falls closed behind you, and the sound snaps you out of your daze somewhat. The silence between the two of you is so tense that it hurts, in your hammering heart and your slick, aching cunt— _God, you are so fucked_ —so you clear your throat and summon the nerve to speak up. "Damn, Dean. I know you love pie, but..."

Dean blinks and snaps out of his own daze then, to defend his dignity against your mockery. "Shut up," he grumbles, shifting just the slightest bit, which somehow ends up giving you an even better view of his enormous, gorgeous dick. "Don't judge. They made a whole series of movies about this."

You arch your brows. "What, pie porn? You would..."

He glares at you, bright emerald eyes glowing a darker shade of green. Exasperated, angry, just like you knew he would be. _So fucking hot like that._ "No, [Y/N], I mean that whole American—"

"Relax, Dean. I knew what you meant," you reassure him, pleasantly shocked by the fact that, so far through all of this, you've managed to keep your shit together and sound almost sort of confident. "Was just teasing."

"Well, aren't you just a cheeky little bitch," Dean quips, and the sound of that word popping off his plump lips scratches your _every_ itch. He smirks because he knows it. "What're you doing back so soon anyway? I thought you and Sammy were out for the day."

You sense that your composure surely won't hold up much longer, since he's still just fucking standing there, with his stiff dick sticking out over the broken open crust, slathered with gooey cherry stuff. "Yeah, I—I just forgot my..." _Well, fuck, now you just forgot what you forgot._ Thankfully, you notice just before the silence gets obscenely long, the forgotten thing just happens to be sitting on the table by the pie that has just gotten fucked by Dean's obscenely long cock. You clear your throat, although the sound comes out more like a thirsty groan. "... my phone."

"Oh. Is that so," he says as he glances down toward the thing. "Always knew I shouldn't ever let you have this."

You're honestly not sure right now if he's talking about the damn phone or his dick.

Dean picks up your cell and tosses it over to you. The toss is lofty and soft, but your fingers falter clumsily, letting the phone drop, wild eyes never leaving his cock.

And then the son of a bitch  _snickers_. The curve of his lips fills you with the urge to fucking suck that cocky snicker off his face. "Nice catch, kid."

You want to scowl at him, but your gaze is still fixed on his dick. "Well, excuse me if I was a little distracted."

Those luscious lips of his turn down into a playful pout. "Now, I wouldn't say _little_..."

"Aw, so you want me to stroke your ego, Dean? Is that what you need?" you tease, your flirtatious side suddenly spurred on by the way Dean is so shamelessly pulling all of your strings, pushing all of your buttons, playing you like a fucking instrument. This is not something you would've ever expected from him. _But hell, it's happening._ And you're beyond happy to play right into it. "Fine, then. Fucking _massively_ distracted."

"Mmm. Stroke away, baby," he growls suggestively, turning his body ever so slightly now so that his massive hard-on is pointing straight toward you, snickering again as he hears your breath catch in your throat. "I mean, you know—my ego."

_Shit_. At this point you are ridiculously dripping wet. Dean's entire ego is built on—literally erected upon—that big huge cock of his and you know it. You'd always assumed so, but now that you've finally seen it, you _know_. You lick your lips, looking up at his perfect face for a second, flashing him a sultry smile before your stare descends right back to his equally perfect dick. "Yeah, you like that? You want more?" you sigh as you devour his meat with your ravenous eyes, drooling like a mad whore. "But your ego's already so fucking _big_ , Dean. So damn beautiful."

Though your gaze remains locked on his cock, you can still see the rest of him in your peripheral vision: the way he wets his lower lip with a flick of his juicy pink tongue, the way his forearm flexes so exquisitely as he runs a smooth hand through his thick light brown hair. His voice when he speaks now is fucking liquid fire, soaking you from the inside out and setting you ablaze everywhere. "You know it's rude to just stare."

_Ugh, God—rude? Like he's one to talk. Standing there gloating in all his glory as he watches you gawk at his godlike cock. He's the rudest boy you've ever fucking seen. Now more than he's ever been. So rude. So good. So bad._ "Well, it's rude to just fucking stand there," you snap. "Looking like... like _that_."

Dean cocks his head and flashes you a feisty smirk. The kind of smirk that he knows could give any girl a heart attack. "Like what? Like a fucking snack?"

You are seriously  _done for_ , at that. Next thing you know, you've flung yourself across the room and fallen on your knees in front of him, your head level with the freshly fucked pie on the table, your face hovering inches away from the cock that you've craved for so long. _So damn long.._. all this time, all along, you had always feared that wanting this was wrong. Until now. Now that your mouth is finally down at Dean Winchester's crotch where it belongs— _now that you know how fucking right it feels to breathe his manly, musky scent while gazing up into his flawless face, your tongue so close that it could flick out for a taste_... now that part of you is _gone_.

"Shit, [Y/N]," he murmurs, still rock hard, his bright green eyes blinking in shock at how quickly you've thrown yourself down at his feet like the slut that you are. That dangerous smirk hasn't yet left his lips. It's darker now, much more than just a little flirty. "Never knew you'd be so goddamn dirty."

Your lips curl up to mirror his smirk as your hands slowly slide up his sculpted thighs, tracing over his rippling abs and then slipping back down toward his perfectly firm, rounded ass. You're falling harder and deeper in love with him every second, your heart beating so fast it might burst from your chest and it feels so good you can barely fucking take it. Every inch of him is literally perfect. You want him to know it. To know how his beauty absolutely enthralls and enslaves you. You want Dean Winchester to know that he will always be so much more than your brother: he is your everything, your king, your master. "Do you like me dirty, sir?"

Dean's mouth opens in a deep moan as the muscles of his ass tense up beneath your grasp, tightening in sync with your worshipful fingers and whorish words. You really want to kiss that ass, you think for a hot second. You've thought of it a lot. _How could you not, having spent almost all your life living beside such a god..._ But then his cock visibly throbs before your face, commanding your full attention again, towering over you as if it read your mind and wants to fucking punish you for craving something else. You find that thought insanely hot and super cute; you've always known that Dean is a possessive alpha male— _maybe his penis is, too_.

And you want nothing more than to devote the rest of your entire life to serving, pleasing, worshiping this perfect piece of massive, manly meat. Before you can savor it, though, you'll have to get through this thick, clingy coating of pie filling. Sure, the sugary stuff must taste fruity and sweet, but the raw, rugged flavor of Dean that lies waiting beneath is your real fucking treat.

" _Fuck_ yes, baby," he breathes. _Yes, he does like you dirty._ His huge dick is bigger and harder already.

"Mmmm," you hum as your hands drift away from his ass, left hand dropping to cradle his full, heavy balls as your right hand encircles the base of his cock. The contact of his velvety veined shaft upon your skin is fucking heaven. And the sounds that he's making right now, the soft sighs and low groans erupting from his gasping throat, are the hottest thing you've ever heard and threatening to blow your brain to bits, but you can't let yourself lose your shit. Not now. Not yet. You clutch onto what's left of your consciousness, clenching tighter around yourself, well aware that you have _never_ been so wet, even more so as you look up at his stunning face and seal your fate here in this moment as his filthy little slut. Your spit-glossed lips are positioned right over the glistening tip of his dick, tongue poised to lick off every drop of pie and then to suck Dean dry.

Just before diving in, you raise your eyes to his, your gaze a vow of love, an everlasting promise. Both of you know that this is destined to end up in  _so_ much more than just a blow job... but in your many fantasies about Dean, you had always dreamed it would begin with one. Not with an innocent kiss on the lips. This is a fantasy, for sure, but not a fairytale; you don't want it to be. Though it's cute to think of him treating you like a Disney princess, right now you just want to be his dirty little bitch. Besides, Dean isn't big on chick flick moments.

But he's sure as hell big on this. Big on seeing you down on your knees, dying to serve and to please, dripping wet and desperate to devour and worship his dick.  _Yes, you want it to begin just like this. With a deep and dirty, filthy fucking blow job._  

You keep your loving eyes locked on Dean's as your mouth hovers over his thick, throbbing cock. "Yes, sir," you purr, inching your lips toward the tip, ever closer. "This dirty bitch is gonna get you all cleaned up."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: Part 2 of The Piehole Incident :)
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Always love kudos and comments! <3


	3. The Piehole Incident (Part 2)

_HONNNKKKK_.

The sound of Baby's horn blaring loudly just outside the door shatters the waking dream in an instant. Your tongue is literally millimeters away from the head of Dean's cock when it happens. Your heart promptly shatters and sinks. _Talk about shitty fucking timing..._

Dean's eyes have fallen shut in an extended blink. And when he opens them, all of a sudden everything is different. "Shit. That's Sammy, isn't it."

 _This can't be happening. Not now. No._ You try to reply, but it's hard when you feel like you're going to die. "Uh... I..."

He reaches down, taking hold of your arms to gently pull you up to your feet. "Here—get up, kid."

Kneeling before him in submission, you _never_  want to leave this position, but his pull is too strong to resist.

Once you're standing in front of him, Dean sets two firm hands on your shoulders and looks you square in the eye. "This _never_ happened. Got it?"

You blink, stunned and stupid. "But... but nothing even did..."

"Yeah, well, it damn near did, and I'm sure as hell going to hell for it."

" _What?_ Dean—"

"You're my _sister_ , [Y/N]. For fuck's sake," he hisses, seething with self-hate. "And you're sixteen."

You roll your eyes royally. Sure, maybe the age thing used to be a problem, back when you were younger. But you've realized today that it's not anymore. Not at all. Mentioning it now, after what almost happened, seems totally irrational. "Oh, right, let me just blow my statutory whistle..."

Dean is downright fuming. "This is _not_ a joke, [Y/N]."

God fucking damnit, you are going to fume right back at him. "And I am _not_ your sister. Not really."

"The hell you're not. Family don't end with blood."

"I know, but—"

"It's not about blood. It's about—"

"About what?"

"It's about love."

 _Oh._ You catch a glimpse of his slick tongue as it curls up slightly behind the pearly ridge of his front teeth, as if to suck the word back in as soon as he had spoken. _It's about... love?_  You're not really sure what he means. But you're so deeply in love with Dean that just hearing that word from his lips, whatever he may mean, is a lot to take in. 

 _There's only one way he can mean it_ , you think. _He loves you like a little sister. That's all you'll ever be to him. Isn't it?_ You stand in dumbstruck silence for a while before realizing that you have to say something. Anything.

When your voice finally comes out, it's weak and wavering. "You mean..."

The firm ridge of Dean's jaw as he flexes it now is so beautiful. "I mean I love you like a sister. Not like a..." he pauses, his tongue doing that pretty little curling thing again, "...like a fucking piehole."

If this conversation had been taking place via text, your immediate response to that would've been "LOL". Maybe he said that ridiculous word in an effort to lighten the heart-stopping tension. Or maybe he is still dead serious and had no such intention. With Dean, it's often hard to tell.

But either way, it doesn't matter, because all you can do now is burst out in laughter. The laugh comes out all girly and giddy—you hope it doesn't give away the way you love him more than anything. _Why does he have to be so fucking pretty._ "Did you really just say that, Dean?"

"Shut up," he snaps, and you wish he would use his big cock to make you do just that. "You know what I mean."

Your heart aches then as Dean finally breaks your gaze and starts walking away. He's just going to the bathroom to clean his cherry syrup-slathered dick up. _Which is sad, because that was supposed to be your damn job_.

Sam honks again, louder this time. You know that you should go. It was time to leave long ago. You cross the room, reaching down toward the floor to pick up the phone you had so awkwardly dropped before.

Dean cleans up fast; he's already moved over to his bed, grabbing the pair of jeans rumpled up there on top of his sheets, pulling them on quickly as you head toward the door. You're not sure why he even bothered cleaning up and putting clothes on. _Isn't he_ _just_ _going to resume getting his freak on, as soon as you're gone?_

Your hand lifts toward the doorknob, but at the sound of his beloved voice, you stop.

"So, we good?" 

 _Ugh, of course that's what Dean says right now. Of course he would._ It sounds a lot more like a statement than a question. And that's how he intends it. Deep down, you know it doesn't matter what you feel, or what you think—Dean is going to do the same damn thing he always does. He is going to stand there and say that everything is good, until it fucking is. Or die trying. Because that's the only way Dean Winchester knows how to live.

You turn to look at him, standing at the foot of his bed, still half-naked, fly not even zipped, tongue tracing the edge of his teeth and the rim of his full lower lip, curling and teasing, for no goddamn reason, one hand casually combing through the soft spikes of his hair, the other resting on his hip, the pose so perfect that a fucking master of classical sculpture must have carved and placed it there. For the thousandth time, you ask your enamored self, _why the fuck does he have to... exist. Like that. Like this._

Knowing that you won't be able to put words together to answer his question, while you're all caught up in ogling his perfection, you force yourself to tear your eyes away from him. Your eyes end up landing on the ravaged pie still sitting on the table across the room. You don't want to lie, to pretend that you're good after what happened— _almost_ happened—Dean is damn good at that kind of thing, but you've never been. So you just stare sort of sadly at the busted pie and nod your stupid head. "You gonna finish what you started?"

Dean hasn't followed your gaze, so he has no idea what you meant. He blinks, a furrow forming in his brows, pink lips parted and pursed as he tries to make sense of your words. _God, you've always loved that adorable puzzled squirrel face that he makes._

You wish you could just keep him confused, give yourself an excuse to look at that cute face all damn day, all damn night. But you know Sam's still waiting outside, so you decide to play nice and just clarify. "With that pie?"

The tension on Dean's face releases, worry fading from his eyes. No doubt he's relieved that you weren't referring to finishing what he'd started with you. "Oh. I dunno."

_HOOONNNNNKKKKK._

Dean practically flinches at how loud that one is. "You should go. Before Sammy comes knocking."

"Yeah," you agree, and you almost go ahead and do just that. Just like you should have. But you can't stop yourself from saying something first. Something shameless and obscene. "I... I think you should finish it, Dean. That piehole got the tease of her dreams. Now she's gonna feel real sad and empty until she gets filled up with cream."

His green eyes gleam, knowing exactly what you mean. You had expected him to be angry, to yell at you to leave—you had been kind of hoping for it, since you love seeing him pissed.

But then a flirty smirk curves up his lips, and you can't help but swoon a bit, because _hot damn, you do also love seeing him like this_. "Yeah, but thing is... that pie just told me she was only baked this week," he says playfully. "What if she blows her statutory whistle on me?"

 _Oh, that's cute. Real cute_. You flash him a coy smile, then feel your insides tightening with need as Dean slowly, ever so slowly, starts crossing the motel room toward you. As he does, your mind runs wild with smutty visions of him slamming you hard up against this door. "Well, if age is the issue, she'll be old enough soon and I'm sure she'll still be just as hungry for you. If not even more. That piehole's a real dirty whore," you murmur, struggling to keep your shit together as he comes closer. "And hey, at least you're not related to her."

Dean approaches, so close now that you can count the precious freckles on his face. "Hmm," he hums as his evergreen gaze studies yours, "not so sure—pie kind of runs in my veins..."

Your lips lift up into a silent little laugh, at that. You've always been a sucker for his sense of humor. _Hell, you're a sucker for every fucking thing about Dean Winchester._ Right now you just adore the way he's playing with this piehole metaphor. And somehow, you think in this moment, the freckles sprinkled all across his perfect face look more precious than ever before. You really want to kiss each one. Over and over again. You've never loved him more.

Then, next thing you know, his hand is moving up toward your face, and—because you're a screwed up piece of shit—all you can think is that you want him to smack it. Or tell you to suck on his fingers while he pushes them forcefully past your thirsting lips. _God, you need that. Badly._ You would be beyond happy with any kind of sex with Dean, but in your deepest dreams, it's always rough and dirty.

But that's not what's about to happen. Obviously it isn't. Instead, he gently rests his forefinger beneath your chin, sweeping his thumb slowly across it, wiping off a little something sticky that you only just now realize had been on your skin. The subtle smile on his face right now is soft and sweet, keeping clean what might have otherwise felt like an act of sin. "And it's also running down your chin."

 _Oh. Pie filling._ Some must have dripped from his dick, when you had been so close to sucking it. _Hopefully it's mixed with his precome_ , you think, and at the thought, your mouth shifts to devour his thumb, to take it past your lips—to taste, to suck, to kiss— _you can't resist..._

"[Y/N]..." he whispers then, sliding his thumb away, though his hand doesn't yet leave your face. The tip of his thumb still rests not far from the corner of your lips, where it's just out of reach of your tongue, his hand smoothly changing position to cradle your face in his palm.

It's a fucking... _caress_. As if you are something that matters to him—something precious, his treasure, his princess. You had wanted him to slap you. And that's still true. Yet you realize now, as you feel your entire soul surrender to his tender touch, you want this too. Though you will always want him to hit you, to hurt you... deep down, at the end of the day, every day, you just want Dean to hold you. To love you.

He never will, you know. Not in the way you want him to. You have only ever been a sister to him, no matter what almost happened today. He will only ever love you in that way.

But you will take whatever love he can give. It's the only way you know how to live.

In any event, it's clear that Dean doesn't want you to start sucking his thumb, and you feel bad now for having tried to do that. For everything that happened since the second you barged in on him fucking that piehole, you feel really bad. Downright shitty. "I'm really sorry, Dean."

Your eyes have dropped a bit, so he tilts your face upward then, ever so slightly, urging you to look at him. He has no clue just how much that hurts. How his sweet gaze and soft touch are totally fucking you up. "For what?"

Burning and freezing all at once beneath his emerald stare, you bite your lip. "If... if you think you're going to hell for what almost happened..."

"Hey—hey, _none_ of that was your fault, okay?" he states, his voice suddenly rough and firm, the way it is in all your dirty dreams, yet in this moment so damn pure. "That was all on me. And if I'm damned for that, then so be it, because—well, if nothing else..."

Dean leans in, holding you still, both of your eyes closing on instinct as he presses your forehead to his, and somehow, in ways you can't fathom, this closeness feels deeper than the hardest sex you have ever imagined with him, so much more intimate than any kiss, so much more real and true than anything you've ever felt, full of a love that words could never tell.

He finishes his sentence then. His voice has gone all soft again, a murmur that is felt more than heard in this moment, holding your heavy heart in his hands as it melts, "...maybe heaven on earth is worth burning in hell."

 _Yes._ Yes, you know it is. He is your heaven. On earth and forever. And he is worth everything.

Both of you know that nothing more needs to be said or done, for now. With a wordless smile goodbye, after swiping your own thumb across your chin to make sure there is no more evidence of pie filling, you finally push the door open and step out.

Only then does it occur to you that Sam had stopped honking, for some reason, during that heartfelt moment that you and Dean had been sharing. And when you finally get in the car, Sam doesn't even ask any questions. You are beyond grateful to him for that.

The silence gives you time to play Dean's words over and over again in your head. To think deeply, dangerously deeply, about what he had said. _So had he really meant that what had happened—what had almost happened—would be heaven? Surely he knew that it would be just that for you—but for him, too...?_

Sam switches the car radio on. It's currently set to some random station. You both listen for a second to the song that's playing: " _Baby you're all that I want, when..._ "

"Ugh, God," Sam instantly groans. "Heaven again."

You cast him a sidelong glance, lit with a teasing smile. "Isn't this the one Dean and I caught you singing along—"

"What? No, 'course not. I hate this song."

"Right. Change the station, then."

He doesn't.

You laugh.

"Shut your piehole," he snaps.

You don't. Instead you turn up the music and start singing along. Dreaming of being Dean's dirty piehole as you shamelessly scream out the song. Because that's your heaven, and it always will be, and because just for now, you feel like you can let yourself dare to hope, dare to dream... that maybe it would also be heaven for Dean.

 

***************

 

It's been over a year since the piehole incident. Yet every time you reminisce, every second of the memory feels so real, so rich, as if it only just happened. As if you can still catch the sweet scent of Dean's pie-covered dick hovering so close to your lips, still feel his thumb sweeping the sticky cherry syrup from your chin, still see each freckle on his flawless face as he leans in. Still hear Baby's radio blasting "Heaven"...

Something snaps your senses right back to the present moment, then. " _I'm finding it hard to believe, we're in..._ "

"... heaven," you murmur softly along with the song that's playing now, again, cracking a slight smile as you listen.

Sam shoots you an unamused glance as the Impala pulls up to your destination. "Don't even think about trying to get me to sing. Not gonna happen," he insists, swiveling into the nearest parking spot outside the nightclub, turning the car key and heaving a relieved sigh as the music stops. "No time for Heaven anyway. Here we are at Hell."

 _Here we are indeed_ , you think to yourself. Your heart starts to race with excitement as you imagine what might happen tonight. Even from here, in the parked car, you can already feel the pull, the power, of Dean's presence, knowing he's not far from where you are, waiting inside. And it makes you feel so alive you could die. It's Halloween, you're finally eighteen, and you're dressed up as cherry fucking pie. All set to walk straight into Hell and tempt Dean into taking you to heaven, bringing all your dreams to life. No moment has ever felt so right.

 _This is the night_ , you tell yourself silently as you take a deep breath and step out of Baby. _This is the night._

 


	4. Heaven in Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for the delayed update — I've had a lot more inspiration lately for my other fic, SPN XXX, so I've been focusing on that one. But here's Chapter 4! Let's see what's in store in this nightclub called Hell...

Hell is fucking hot as balls. And full of wasted strangers you don't give a shit about, crammed in the club wall to wall, swaying to the beat that's playing, pounding hard and loud, a sea of bodies grinding up against each other, skin to skin in a mad mass of sweat and sin.  _It's probably a hell of a lot like the real thing_ , you think. You've never been to the fiery abyss, but you would guess that it's a similar hot mess. Just with more blood, and teeming with demons who hunger for torture and death more than sex.

There are supposed to be a few actual demons here tonight. Here to wheel and deal in wayward souls, unwitting victims as willing to sell as the demons are eager to buy. That's why you and the Winchesters have come. The three of you are here on a mission: to find and to exorcise them.

For you, though, that's not the only reason. You know you probably shouldn't blow off such a worthy purpose to prioritize scratching your own deepest itch. But you've been on the road for so long as a hunter, saving others alongside your brothers, tied up in this life of thankless service, sacrifice and selflessness— _and now it's your eighteenth birthday, damnit. You deserve this._ Just for once, you've earned the right to be a sex-crazed, selfish bitch.

"God, it's packed," Sam grumbles from behind you, not above stating the obvious. "And hot as fuck."

From experience you know that both of your brothers, and Sam in particular, are fiercely addicted to wearing unnecessary layers. They're all about flannels and jackets, all day every day. Or, when a case requires, their faux-Fed getup of button-downs and blazers. You've never been a fan of all the fucking layers. Especially not on Dean. Sometimes when you're lucky, in the heat of summer, you might glimpse him shrugging out of all his stupid extra shirts, stripping down to the tee underneath— _the thin fabric matted with sweat and fitted to his skin in all the right places..._ But for the most part, he and Sam stick to their layers. It's as if they'd feel naked in anything less. You want Dean naked, all day every day, but of course he goes about his life pretending not to know that.

True to form, Sam doesn't even motion to remove his jacket as the two of you move through the stifling heat. But right now you don't really care what Sam does. All you care about, all you need, is Dean.

"I'll ask Dean where he is," Sam offers, reaching for his phone.

And that's when you see him. Standing by the bar across the room. The whole mess of everything else in the club fucking melts, as your eyes settle on the unmistakable perfection of his profile, watching as he leans in over the bar, flashing his ladykiller smile, no doubt charming the panties off the bartender to score a few free drinks, or maybe to determine whether she's a demon. The play is practically the same, either way. 

You notice then that—by some big stroke of fortune, a birthday present from the universe or something—Dean has lost his layers and his sculpted upper body is clad in nothing but his go-to black tee. It's your favorite shirt on him, one that gets you wet every time you see: it's a manly fit, because otherwise he would never wear it, yet somehow it hugs every flawless ridge of muscle just right, the fucking perfect kind of tight.  _God, shit is so gonna go down tonight_ , you think as you downright devour the sight with your eyes.  _You_  are so gonna go down on  _him_ tonight.

Dean hasn't seen you yet. And you're happy for that, because you want to fucking pounce on him before he even sees you coming.

"No need," you tell Sam as you start weaving your way through the crowd toward the bar. "Found him."

You can feel the hulking shadow of your taller brother keeping up with you, close behind as you cross the room, and it's a good thing because you realize now that you have a use for him. Keeping your gaze fixed on Dean's profile all the while, you peel off your coat and fling it back toward Sam, not even having to turn to know that he will catch it on impulse.

Not without complaint, though, of course. "What the hell, [Y/N]— _[Y/N]..._ "

At first, that's a reaction to the way you've just turned him into your own personal coat-hanger. But you can tell that his second utterance of your name was about something else. His voice is full of alarm, maybe even a little bit of anger. You had known to expect nothing less. With your coat off, Sam has now laid eyes on the scandalous cherry pie costume you're wearing tonight. For the big brother figure he is, it's a sight that cannot be unseen.

And it's a sight that is all for your other big brother.  _All for Dean._

His gorgeous green eyes lock on yours moments before you walk right up to him. Just as you had hoped, they don't stay on your face for very long. They drop as quickly as his jaw.

"Hey, Dean," you purr as you watch his wide eyes roam and ravage every last inch of your skin, trying and failing to focus on what little is covering it, taking in all there is to be seen. "Happy Halloween."

You've heard about that thing called 'eye-sex' before, and maybe you've even had it with Dean, but now is the moment you feel like you  _finally_  know what it means. His glorious emerald gaze smolders like fire, burning into your every nerve ending, piercing you to your core, as his mesmerized stare moves over your entire body and then finally comes back up to meet yours. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before. 

Here you are, in a skimpy bikini top shaped as a pair of cherries, each cherry just barely big enough to cover one of your tits, and a tiny little skirt patterned to look like pie crust, short and flared enough that, with each move of your hips, anyone can see the bright red thong you're wearing under it. 

And here he is. Seeing you like this and clearly loving it. The sight has turned him to a speechless piece of shit.

All of this happens in what feels like a fucking eternity but is really just a few seconds. Before you know it, Sam has arrived, holding the coat that you just threw at him, and he returns the favor by practically throwing it over your body in a clumsy attempt to get you covered up. 

"What the actual  _fuck_ , [Y/N]?" he rasps, turning to look at his brother then, suddenly looking like a snot-nosed little kid afraid that he's about to get punished for something. "Dean, I swear I didn't know what she was wearing..."

You can see the lump in Dean's throat as he swallows. "Uhh," he stutters, gaze falling to his crotch as he squirms. "Sure. I gotta—um... yeah."

" _Dean_ ," Sam calls out as his brother suddenly just fucking leaves.

He keeps a firm grip on your shoulder, to make sure your coat stays on, and to drag you along with him as he hastens to follow Dean. The older Winchester had bolted so quickly that it's a struggle to keep up in the midst of this crowded club.

"I know what you're trying to do, [Y/N]," Sam says as the two of you push and shove through the throng of strangers. "And I get it. Hell, I'm all for it. But this is  _not_ the way to do it."

You bite back a sinful little smile, at that. Sam has never explicitly come out and admitted it. Now that he has, you'll never let him forget it. "All for it, huh? So was that penis cake supposed to be Dean's cock?"

"Oh God,  _stop_ ," he groans. "Just because I support this whole... whatever it is, doesn't mean I need to hear you talk about it. In fact, I want you two to get this over with, so that you'll finally  _shut the fuck up_."

Your brows crease, not sure what he means; you've never once talked to Sam about your dirty urges toward Dean. "Shut up...?"

"Yes, [Y/N]. You've probably never noticed, when you're both asleep and I'm the one awake to hear all this, but you and Dean are both—" Sam's voice trails and he clears his throat, "...you're both screamers when you dream."

 _Oh_. Before you can say anything, you and Sam reach the entrance to the men's room, where you had seen Dean from afar stumbling in.

Sam huffs out a frustrated sigh through his nose. "Okay. I'm going in. To make sure that he doesn't jump out the window or something."

Your own nose huffs out a little laugh, at that.

But Sam is dead serious; his dark glare in this moment makes that obvious. "You really fucked him up, [Y/N]."

 _Yes, yes you did. That was exactly what you wanted._  You purse your lips and shrug at him. "Sorry not sorry?"

He is too fed up for words, so much that you can tell it fucking hurts. The selfish bitch that you've become tonight is having so much fun with this.

"Just... just stay here. Or use the little girls' room or whatever," Sam instructs, nodding toward the nearby door labeled for ladies. "But no matter what, you keep this goddamned coat on, unless you want to get fucked by every scumbag in this club. Including the demons we came here to hunt. Till you screwed that up."

You can't resist having just a little more fun with this. "No scumbags or demons are getting a piece of this. Promise," you assure him, biting your lip with the words you speak next, "...unless Dean gets possessed."

Steam is practically fuming visibly out of Sam's ears as he rivets his eyes on you, dangerously narrowing them. "Just... just  _ugh_ , fuck all of this," he grunts as he finally lets go of your arm and turns on his heel, storming into the men's room.

Left standing there for a second, you decide you may as well duck into the ladies' room as he had suggested. To no surprise, it's crowded with drunk chicks throwing up into the toilets, or trying to take bathroom selfies and dropping their phones in the sink. You find yourself a little corner by the far wall, where you can check yourself out in the mirror in peace and stay somewhat removed from it all.

It's not really all that peaceful here, though, you realize soon enough, as this part of the girls' room is right by a vent, through which you can hear sounds... coming straight from the neighboring men's. This grosses you out of course, at first—but then you realize that the one sound you can make out above all the others, loud and clear somehow, is a pair of familiar voices: your brothers.

A smile lifts up your cherry-tinted lips. No part of you even hesitates to shamelessly listen in on this.

You can just picture Dean exiting one of the stalls, having finished his business in what had to be less than a minute, and the look on his face when he sees Sam waiting for him by the sink.

"You followed me in here? The fuck, Sam? As if you didn't know why I came in—"

"Of course I know. And that's the problem. We've never talked about this, but we have to now, I guess."

"Talked about this? Are you serious? There is no... there is no  _this_."

"She's dressed up as fucking pie, Dean."

"So?"

"Don't act like you don't know."

"Know what?"

"That [Y/N] is screaming out for you to fuck her."

"Fucking hell, Sam," you can hear Dean groan over the sound of running water. He's probably washing his hands and wishing he could wash away the words that he just heard. "She's our  _sister_."

"Not in the way that would make it wrong. You two have been killing each other over this for too damn long. And honestly, it's starting to kill me, too, having to sit by and watch you—"

"Whoa, now who says you have to 'watch' anything?"

"I mean—I  _live_ with the two of you, Dean. Every day. Sleep in the same stuffy motel rooms every night. I'm the one who has to hear it when you moan each other's names out in your dreams. News flash, Dean: she's in a bed just a few feet away from you and wants the same damn thing. And now she's finally eighteen. It doesn't have to be a dream."

A long pause ensues before Dean speaks again. The pause was too heavy; his defense mechanism against that kind of deep shit demands that he lighten the mood. "So you're saying you'd rather hear big bro and little sis actually having sex instead of us just dreaming about it? Dude, I know the middle child always has some issues, but you..."

"Quit trying to make this about me, Dean. This is about you and [Y/N] and what both of you want. My only role in this is to wake you up and tell you that, for once in your life, you need to stop thinking with your head and... and start thinking with your cock."

Another pause, shorter this time. Not as heavy. "Well, hell, Sammy, that ranks real high on the list of shit that I thought nobody would ever say to me."

"Yeah, so you better not give me a reason to say it again," Sam snaps, and you can imagine the look of pure vexation blazing in his hazel eyes. "And maybe if you take her in this costume, you can finally kick your sick habit of fucking pie."

"I got no clue what you're talking—"

"Cut the crap, Dean. You're not exactly great at covering your tracks."

"You mean..."

"I mean you always leave your sloppy pieholes in the trash. With the crust all busted open and your—your  _stuff_  oozing out of the cracks."

Another pause follows. By far the awkwardest. During which you briefly wonder why you've never found Dean's used pies in the garbage.  _He probably does a better job of cleaning up after himself when he knows you're around_ , you realize now.  _Which may be for the best, because if you had ever seen a pie in the trash with his creamy white come oozing out of the cracks..._ Dean's next words stop that thought in its tracks. 

"That's supposed to just look like cream filling."

"Whipped cream usually looks a lot more appetizing, Dean."

"Hey, that hurts a little bit," Dean quips, and though you know he isn't serious, you on the other hand seriously do take offense.  _Because no one should ever insult Dean Winchester's come in all its divine deliciousness. You've never actually tasted it, damnit, but nonetheless you fucking live for it._  Dean sets his brother straight with the words he says next. "But you know, for the record: every chick who's ever sucked my dick has said that my 'stuff' is the best she's ever tasted."

"Ugh, Dean, that ranks real high on the list of shit that you should  _never_  say to me," Sam mutters in disgust. "I bet [Y/N] would love to hear it, though."

"Shut your piehole," Dean orders as he finally shuts off the water. It had been running for what seemed like forever. "Let's go—she must be wondering what's taking us so long. You know the family wisdom, more than five minutes means trouble: either a monster from the bathroom sink, or even worse, a massive shit. Guess I'll just tell her that Sammy walked in. You count as both of those things."

Dean's voice fades into the distance then as he and Sam, you figure, must be crossing the men's room toward the door. You mirror their movements in the neighboring bathroom, timing your exit to coincide with theirs seamlessly. The way Dean's eyes go wide as the two of you nearly collide has you falling wildly in love with him all over again.

You're wearing your coat, this time, which should've made things easier, just a bit less hard on Dean. But he's already seen what's underneath. And there's no coming back from that. Now you both know that things will probably never be easy again. That they will always be hard, until he comes all over you like the sloppy fucking piehole that you are. You need that  _bad_.

The stupefied silence hanging heavy in the air between the two of you is broken then, by Sam. "Look. I'm  _not_ gonna stand here and watch you guys have goddamn eye-sex again. Why don't you go have actual sex in the Impala while I stay back here in Hell and hunt some demons."

You can see the huge lump in Dean's throat—which deliciously matches the one in his jeans—as he gulps. "Um..."

"Or just go sit in the car and eat the birthday cake I bought and talk about your fuzzy feelings. Whatever floats your fucking boats. Just go on staring at each other like dumb shits for all I care," Sam snaps, throwing his hands up in the air. "Just do it alone—together— _out there_."

 _Aw. Sammy is super precious like this_ , you think.  _Trying to come off bossy as fuck while deep down he's just desperately begging._  

But your thoughts don't stay on Sam for more than half a second. Because you're still standing in front of the man that you love. The Winchester who, even down here in Hell, still shines brighter than heaven above.

Biting your lip, you know just what to say when you release it. _If you say this... there's really only one way that the dirty, flirty, pie-loving, piehole-fucking bastard inside Dean could ever reply._

You flash him your sultriest smile. "You know... the cake Sam got me does look really yummy, Dean," you tell him, not about to mention that it's pink with creamy white icing and represents his dick. "Maybe we can... share...?"

Dean blinks twice, already making you come with each bat of his beautiful eyes, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair. "Nah, you can take the cake, babe. It's your birthday. And anyway..." he murmurs, falling straight into the trap your words had set, and loving falling into it, his smirk and his voice suddenly turning a hundred shades darker and dirtier, "...you know I'm not much of a cake guy."

There's no doubt about what Dean's bound to say next. Even though you already know, when he says it, you're still gonna burst into pieces and just fucking  _die_.

He winks at you as he replies, then skims his gaze over your slutty cherry pie costume, trailing slowly up your thighs... and  _fuck_ , he’s killing you so sweetly, savagely, with words and eyes alike.  _What a delicious way to die._  "But I love me some pie."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are excited for the smut that's coming up in Chapter 5 ;)
> 
> And I hope you're enjoying this so far! Always grateful for kudos and comments, if you are <3


	5. Have Your Cake and Eat It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LAST HERE COMES THE SMUT. There is also some fluff and angst and stuff. But yes, I promise, there's some dirty filthy smut. Hope you enjoy it :)

"So, um..." Dean gulps anxiously, staring down at his feet. Standing in this otherwise empty hallway, the two of you here all alone. He seemed to have gotten all cocky and flirty just moments ago, but apparently he's back in awkward squirrel mode, now that Sammy is gone. "I guess we'll... go sit in the car and—I'll just, uh... sing you happy birthday or something."

 _Dude, how is it that you're still radiating big dick energy even when squirming and blushing like a Sunday school virgin_ , you think. You keep that thought inside, admiring the rosy flush behind his freckles, the curl of lowered lashes under which he tries to hide. "Yeah sure, Dean. That sounds sweet. We all know you can sing."

"Really?" he raises his eyes toward you now, softly biting his full lower lip. "I thought that was sort of a... well-kept secret. You know, one of my many— _many_ —hidden talents."

That lip, especially when those flirty words have just fallen from it, looks so delicious that it hurts not to kiss. "Well. I dunno what other skills you're hiding, Dean..." you say, eyes silently effusing that you can't wait to find out, tracing every perfect feature of his face and lingering on his sinful mouth, "but your singing voice is no secret."

"Oh," he murmurs, trembling a little as your hungry gaze devours him. "Well, uh, do you... do you like it?"

 _Ugh. Such an adorable son of a bitch._  "Mm-hmm. Love it. Just like every damn thing about you, Dean.  _Deep_ and...  _thick_ and...  _strong_ and rich and smooth as fucking velvet," you tell him, imagining how hot he must look all those times you've heard him sing—which is usually when he's showering—stark naked soaping up his dick while steaming water splashes and cascades down every sweet inch of his skin... "Motel showers aren't soundproof, you know. I can hear everything."

Dean gulps again, emerald eyes widening. "Um. You mean, like... everything?"

 _Oh shit—does that hand-in-the-cookie-jar look on his face imply... what you so desperately hope it implies?_ Just the thought of Dean Winchester breathing your name in a low, sexed up whisper while stroking his cock in the shower is so fucking hot you could die...

A couple of hammered strangers stumble past you toward the bathroom; the hall is narrow here, so you use that as an excuse to shift, moving in closer to him, a little bit, already getting high on his mind-blowing masculine scent. "I mean, I can definitely hear over the shower when you sing. As for whatever else you do in there—I can... only imagine..."

"Mmm," he hums as some part of your body brushes his; at the contact, his breath catches in a sharp gasp. And then, all of a sudden, the bashful schoolboy he'd become in these past few minutes begins to give way to the grown man he is, and to the filthy animal that you know lurks inside of him. The transformation, the transition into pure sin, happens so quickly it's fucking crazy. "Is that so. Then tell me... what do you imagine, baby?"

 _Fuck. Fuck. Stay classy, stay sassy. Don't lose your shit—not yet_ , you urge yourself. "Well, I could tell. Or maybe..." you purr, coming in ever closer, and practically coming already from the way Dean's powerful gaze pierces yours, "...I could show. Speaking of Baby... you know—"

"Yeah, let's go," he growls, not about to waste another second, one of his big arms wrapping swiftly around your waist to sweep you along with him as he heads out of this place.

Your instinct is to literally surrender all control over your limbs to him. To have him drag you around like a rag doll, fling you over his shoulder like a flimsy little plaything. It's a struggle to force yourself to keep some of your own mobility—you know you have to, though; you're still in public, after all, so going limp against Dean's body would just be inconvenient and make him look shady.

His husky voice breaks through the hazy state of bliss you've fallen into. "You okay, baby?"

 _Oh, sure, if by 'okay' you mean summoning all my fucking strength to not become a puddle on the floor. To stay alive while every cell inside me is exploding with the urge to be your filthy fucking whore._  You scrape around to pull together the remaining sorry shreds of your composure, and you almost sound coherent when you answer. "Oh, I'm  _beyond_  okay, Dean."

"Yeah? I probably shouldn't even ask you what that means," he figures, casting a quick glance down at your love-drunk face, then at your thighs, exposed beneath your coat with each step that you take. He flashes you a dirty smirk before looking up again to barrel through a crowd of tipsy idiots. "You know, you better wrap that coat tighter around you, Y/N. It's cold outside. And here in Hell, well... every dick in this place wants a piece of that pie."

"Don't worry, gorgeous—ain't no one else getting a slice. But all right. Nice and...  _tight_ ," you say the word in a suggestive little sigh as you reach to grab either end of the coat's belt, which has been hanging loosely all this while. You secure it around your waist, tying a firm knot, hiding everything inside. It's hard to manage your own movements when Dean is guiding you through the club like this, but somehow you did it. " _So_  tight, just for you, baby. That what you like?"

"Shit _,_ " he grunts, the curse rumbling from deep in his gut, so aroused as to sound animalistic, as the two of you approach the nightclub's exit. "You're gonna be the fucking death of me, kid."

"Just being near you kills me every day, Dean. But it's always worth it," you confess, one of your hands reaching up to cling to him as you keep following his movements, palm pressed against the broad planes of his chest. "And hey—you better stop calling me kid. Pretty sure we agreed on  _bitch_..."

The crisp air of the autumn night hits and bites at your heated skin as you step outside.

And the words Dean utters next hit and bite even harder, which is exactly what you've always wanted him to do to you, with words and deeds alike. "Don't you go getting bossy on me," he snaps, the hand around your waist suddenly dropping down to your ass, grabbing and squeezing hard, daunting and dominant. That gets you even more soaking wet on the instant. "I'll call you whatever the fuck I want. You dirty little slut."

" _Urmphh_ —" some smutty sound slips from your mouth as you clumsily trip on the flat, solid ground. Your eyes have started to fall back into your head, which is mostly because you're reeling from the ecstasy, but it's also an eye-roll of exasperation at yourself.  _Nice going, you kinky little klutz._

One of Dean's arms is still around you—both, now, as he reaches down to help steady you up—so thankfully, you don't land like a drunk skank on your butt. 

"Fuck," he mutters once you're upright, a quiet chuckle crinkling up the corners of his eyes, firm muscles of his torso tense as your fingers grip onto his frame for dear life. "I, uh... thought you'd like that. Guess I didn't know how much."

The two of you just stand still in each other's arms for a moment in the parking lot. You gaze up longingly into Dean's gorgeous face, every fiber of your being burning, melting, from the look of the fierce little smirk on his lips, and the fiery feel of his touch. "Well, now you know, sir. Are... are we almost at the car?" you stammer, flashing your own saucy smirk, voice barely above a sultry whisper. "Because I really need you to fuck me up."

You're not quite sure, but for a split second, it feels as if it's now Dean's turn to lose his shit. _Did his eyes fall out of focus with that quick, spastic series of blinks? Did his knees buckle a little, those beautiful bowlegs of his collapsing just a bit? No way in hell_ , you think— _he's a damn sex god, a dauntless beast devouring his prey, naturally confident and dominant_...  now that you two are flirting your way through the pre-foreplay foreplay, given that he is the supreme king of this kind of thing, he has to be completely in his element. You must've just imagined it.

Yet, then again, everything you have ever imagined... tonight, it's all happening.

His smirk has softened into a faint, fragile smile, which softens further as he breathes your name just then. "Y/N..."

You bring your body closer into him on instinct. "Yes, sir?"

Dean's gaze lowers, deeper than ever when it lifts again toward yours. "I feel—um... I feel... pressure."

The pure heart inside you skips a beat, for some odd reason, but you don't show it. The mood you're in right now is more toward shameless whore. "You mean right... here...?" you purr, rolling your hips so that one of the buttons of your coat grinds wickedly against the huge bulge of his denim-sheathed dick. "Yeah, I feel it too, Dean."

" _Ugh_ , yes, but—" he grunts, briefly throwing his head back, biting his lip hard then breathlessly releasing it, making the hottest face you've ever fucking seen, "but baby, that's... that's not what I mean."

You shiver as one of his hands shifts down your shoulder, toward your chest.

"I mean... here," he says, hand hovering over your fast-beating heart, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your coat, lingering in a tender caress. "I mean this."

 _Well, shit._  So he's talking about feeling the weight of your heart in his hands when this happens. And you love him for that, even more than you ever have, and that... that's the problem.

You swallow your panic and try to stay sassy and calm as you stare blankly up at him. "...you mean my tits?"

"Oh, you cheeky bitch," he huffs with a frustrated laugh, though he's not above giving that tit a slight squeeze just before his hand leaves. He brings his palm to rest on your upper arm, the other one flat at the small of your back, holding you firmly yet gently against him. "Listen, Y/N—I'm... I'm not gonna let you cheapen the moment."

Despite how much you love him, or honestly  _because_ of it, you can't let this happen. "Well, I'm not gonna let you deepen it."

Dean scrunches up his brows, clearly unable to comprehend how the chick is the one resisting the chick flick moment now. Here with you, he's the one fighting to keep shit sweet and soft; he starts to process that and seems sort of offended at the thought. "Why the hell not?"

You sigh deeply. "Because that would ruin it, Dean."

"You mean..."

 _Ugh, fuck it_. You suddenly can't stop the truth from pouring out in buckets. "I mean that if you knew, if you had  _any_ clue how much I fucking love you, you would never let his happen. You'd be too afraid of breaking me to pieces. The way I feel, the way you never will, afraid that one quick fuck would make it even worse. If you—if only you knew, Dean, you would  _never_ do this."

You've lost count of how many times he's blinked. As if hit by a sledgehammer with each word of each sentence.

Unable to take this, you pull away from him and start storming off into the aimless distance, just because it hurts to be so near, talking more to yourself than to him now, though loud enough for him to hear. "And yes, I know, now I just went and screwed it all up on my own, 'cause I'm that fucking stupid—"

Dean's heavy footsteps pound against the ground as he stomps after you. "Would you just  _stop_?"

Having just reached the Impala, which wasn't even your intention, you swivel in place to face him, though you know you shouldn't. "Stop what?"

"Just—God, just shut the fuck  _up_!" he snarls. And then it's like some switch has flipped. Dean's body slams up into yours in one swift motion,  _hard_ , your back banging against the surface of the car, the shock and harshness of the impact sending you to heaven on the instant, vision full of falling stars. The whore inside you hopes Dean knows how soaking wet you are.

And  _fuck_ , the way he's going at it now, there's no doubt that he does. "Just stop talking, you dumb fucking slut. Keep that pretty mouth shut. Think you can do that?" he growls into the exposed skin of your throat as you let your head fall back over the roof of the Impala. "What gives you the right to tell me what I feel, huh? What I'd never do?"

 _Hoooly shit_ , you think, biting your lip to stay silent per his command as he rips your coat open with ruthless hands and then starts grabbing at your tits. You could never disobey his orders even if you wanted to.

"You think you fucking know me? Control me?" Dean grunts, hips pushing into yours in a ferocious thrust, the bulge in his jeans big and hard and  _God_ , it feels so damn delicious. "No, I think we both know... you just want me... to control  _you_."

Vows of devotion and submission resound in your reeling head— _oh my God yes sir thank you so much yes you own me now please just control me and fuck me to pieces please yes sir I love you_ —but you clamp your teeth down on your tongue to keep all the words in.

Before you even know what's happened, he has swung the car door open, shoved you in, watching with wild eyes as you land against the smooth black leather of the backseat, coat hanging loosely to your sides and falling away from your barely clothed body, and you're sure that your face is the picture of need as you reach desperately up toward him, wanting nothing more than to feel the full, beautiful weight of Dean descending on you, dominating you completely...

 _Damn_ , you think as he yanks off his shirt and swoops in, Baby's door slamming closed behind him. He's so big and strong he could crush you. You want him to.

"Mmm. So fucking pretty, all spread out like a slutty piece of pie for me," Dean taunts, face hovering inches over yours as he starts clawing at your cherry-themed bikini top. "Want me to eat you up? Open that filthy mouth and tell me you what you want, you desperate cunt."

"Unghh  _fuuuuck_..." you grunt, squirming in pleasure at his words, sighing with release now that he's finally allowing you to speak. "I want  _you_ , sir. I just wanna be your dirty whore. Your fucktoy. Want you to take me in every hole, need your come deep inside me and all over me,  _please_..."

"Shit. Such a kinky little bitch," he growls, mouth dropping down to start sucking and biting at the soft skin of your neck while he raises one of his hands to wrap around it. Tightening his grasp on your throat, he notices the way you groan in bliss. "You fucking like this?"

"Y-yes..." you gasp for air as you feel him ripping off your top, manhandling one of your tits, blunt edges of his nails digging hard enough to leave marks in your sensitive flesh.

"Yeah, that's it, fucking love my hand around your throat. Making you choke." Dean's grip on your neck clenches ever tighter as he grinds his hips forcefully into yours. "Know I could choke you with this big hard cock, too. Bet you'd love that even more, whore. Wouldn't you."

"Oh G- _God_ , yesss, sir—" you stutter, field of vision fading to a blur. And all you can think is that you need him to fuck you up even harder. You're desperate enough to beg because you've never needed anything so badly. "Can—can you... slap my fucking face, sir? P-please?"

 _Swack_. He doesn't hesitate to do just that. You're pretty sure you came right on the spot, just from the first sharp little smack. His hand on your throat slackens just enough for you to gain more of a hold over your senses, to savor the exquisite sting as his calloused palm comes down against your skin.

"Like that?" he devilishly asks.  _Swack_.  _Swack_. Each slightly harder than the last. "Like this? Yeah, look at that, you love it. Dirty fucking bitch."

"Ughh holy  _shiiiiit_...!" you shout, high on the divine feeling of Dean's brutal domination, wanting nothing more than to submit to him and serve him, unable to keep the wholehearted truth from spilling with passion out of your panting mouth, "Dean...  _Dean_ , I love..."

But you don't even get to finish your stupid compulsive sentence. Because then, all of a sudden, the switch in Dean has flipped right back again.

"Fuck," he grunts, lifting off of you, gaze averted from your face, hands sliding off of your throat and your chest as he braces his arms against the leather seat to hoist himself higher away from your body. His voice is muted and ashamed when he speaks. "Fuck me."

 _Goddamn, it hurts so much to see him like this._ Maybe you can play the oblivious bitch, pretend that you don't even notice the shift, the bleak switch that had flipped. Keep shit flirty and dirty. At least his 'fuck me' choice of words has made that pretty easy. "Mmm, that's—that's the idea, baby..."

Dean dares to look at you just then, wincing at what he sees. You can imagine it—scratches and hickeys, the flush of freshly beaten skin, the little semicircles where his nails have just dug in. And worse yet, no doubt, worse than any marks left on the surface, you can imagine what he sees deeper inside, surely given away by your expression: one of utter and abject submission. Surrendering your whole being to him. And not just sexually, which you're certain hundreds of girls have done. No, for you it's in  _every_  way. Body and mind, heart and soul. Before and after whatever happens tonight, beyond this car, in and out of the bedroom, anytime, anyplace in the world. Till the day you die, and then even more ever after. That's the way you love Dean Winchester.

There's no way that he could ever feel a fraction of the love you feel for him. Ever. You're sure of it. And you had realized that, and you had really tried to stop this, to walk away and never let this happen, but... but then... but then  _he_ had made it happen, and now that he has, shit between you two is just irreversibly fucked. You know you can't go back. Dean is sure as hell going to try to, but you—you know better than that.

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head slowly. "No, I mean... God, Y/N, look what I'm doing to you. I'm so sorry."

Your dumbass defense mechanism in this moment is to act as if the only issue here is physical. As if he only means the marks upon your skin, nothing deeper within. And the slut inside you hopes that she can still get what she wants, before the night is done.

So you respond to him just like that. Shamelessly superficial and slutty, leaving your shattered heart completely out of the equation. " _Sorry_? I've been begging you for every second of what's happening. I'm a hunter, for fuck's sake—I can take a few bruises and scrapes. I  _want_  you to ravage me like a damn savage, Dean. You know this is heaven for me."

He pulls back even more, till he's leaning against the Impala's far window. "Yeah, well, it shouldn't be."

"Shouldn't  _I_  get to decide that?" you snap, shifting up a bit till you are also reclining against the window at your back. It helps to sustain the illusion that you're sort of on the same level as him. Which is what you need, because your current mood is to play sassy and take back your dignity, as if you even have any. "In case you didn't notice, I'm eighteen. What I want is up to me. How can you start the best two minutes of my life and then just stop all of a sudden and say  _sorry_. I mean—what the actual fuck is wrong with you, Dean?"

"God, Y/N, isn't it obvious?" he seethes, as if you should know what he means. 

You notice now even in the darkness that his eyes are so beautifully green it's ridiculous. It's nothing new—you should be used to it, but even after all these years of living with him, you've never gotten over that insanely gorgeous color.  _It's distracting, damn it._

Realizing soon enough that you haven't grasped the obvious, Dean up and states it, bluntly. " _You're_  what's wrong with me."

You pause briefly before grumbling out a sarcastic response. Your arms are now crossed over your chest to spare him the awkwardness of staring at your boobs while you two are fighting. "Well, that's a lovely fucking birthday compliment. Don't sugarcoat it or anything."

His glorious green eyes darken, clearly displeased. He can dish out sarcasm much better than he can take it, apparently. "Y/N. You know what I mean."

"No. I don't, Dean," you huff. "And I'm not gonna ask because shit between us is already so far beyond fucked." 

He doesn't even try to pick a fight with you on that one.

The stupidest and best idea you've ever had bursts into your desperate whore head just then. "Anyway. It's my birthday. So I'm gonna eat some goddamn cake," you declare, reaching for the white box that that you'd thrown onto the floor of the backseat earlier. You don't hesitate for a second before blurting out your next words. "Can you please at least get naked and let me watch you stroke your big beautiful dick while I'm eating it?"

Dean's eyes go wide. The suddenness of your smutty request, in the heat of this serious fight, naturally took him by surprise.  _Yup, he's back in blushing schoolboy mode now and it's so fucking cute you could die._

"...eating it?" he echoes weakly.

"The cake, stupid," you say, setting the box in your lap, reaching for the lid. Then locking your eyes on his crotch, trying to burn a hole through his jeans as you ogle the visible bulge of his dick. "Unless..."

He uncomfortably shifts. "No, uh—yeah. Go ahead. You can, um, have your... cake and... eat it."

You're almost sorry that you're having so much fun with this. But you shouldn't be.  _It's your birthday, goddamnit._ "And you're gonna beat it?" you ask him coyly. "Your meat, that is?"

His right hand moves toward his lap; you can't tell if it's to try to conceal his erection, or to consider setting it free. "I... uhh..."

You push your lower lip out in your best attempt at a babygirl pout. "Pretty please, Dean? It would be my very most favoritest birthday present."

His own lips curl up slightly in response to your expression. "I, um, already got you a present."

 _Oh._ You hadn't expected that. "Really? Is it, like... a sexy present?" you ask, continuing on when he pauses before responding. "Look—if it's not X-rated, save it. You can give it to me later and I'm sure I'll love it. But right now I just need you to unwrap your fucking cock."

His eyes are still wide, palm just hovering preciously over his crotch.

You cast him a judgmental glance. "Why do you look so terrified? I'm not gonna bite it off."

Dean's pearly teeth clamp down over his lower lip, his voice coming out in a quiet sigh. "Promise?"

 _God, that's cute. So fucking cute._ He probably knows it, too. Knows what he's doing to you. And you're fine with that, really, as long as you can both get off on it. You decide to keep your answer honest. "Well, I can't say I won't bite at all, but... but yeah. I'd never bite it  _off_. Promise."

"Okay then, birthday bitch. If you insist," he murmurs with an evil wink. You watch in rapture as he licks the luscious lip that he just bit, and then— _shit_ —the hand at his crotch slowly shifts, and he starts going for it.

By now you have forgotten all about the penis cake that's in your lap, and every other penis in the history of the universe. The cock that's soon to be whipped out in front of you will always be the only one that matters.

And  _fuck_ , it's even more perfect than you remember. A damn long time has gone by since the piehole incident, but not such a long time that it would make sense for Dean's dick to seem so much bigger and even more gorgeous than it had been back then. You're sure you're just imagining things. But whatever is happening, it's  _perfect_.

After Dean slides his jeans partway down his muscled thighs, the denim rumpled at his knees, he wraps one hand around his shaft and gives it an obscenely tight squeeze. There's already a gleaming bead of precome at the head, but the sweet drop oozes out even shinier and juicier now that he is stroking himself, and if you didn't love him so much you would want to murder him for being such a wicked tease. 

"How the hell do you do it," you whisper.

He quirks his brow, flirty and curious. 

You finish your thought as you gawk at his cock. "Just... just exist like that. So fucking flawless."

Dean snickers and shrugs, and you notice that his hips are now rocking slightly to fuck himself into his fist. "You're one to talk, gorgeous," he answers with another ovary-obliterating wink. Then the cake in your lap catches his eye, what little is visible from where he sits; he arches his neck to get a better look, then pauses and blinks. "Wait, is... is that a penis?"

Your lips curve up in a silent laugh as you finally attend to the snack in your lap. The one across the car looks much more scrumptious, but your plan had been to use this cake as foreplay on your way to  _that_. "Mm-hmm," you hum, dipping your finger into the box to scoop up some of the pale pink frosting, raising it toward your lips. "Sammy's to blame for this."

Dean lets out a low chuckle, watching you suck off the frosting as you stare at him pumping his dick. "Fuck. Naughty son of a bitch."

"Probably picked that up from his big brother," you figure, swirling your tongue out over your finger and flashing him your own playful wink. "Mmmm. Tasty. Just look at that fucking perfect shade of pink."

He knows that you don't really mean the color of the frosting, but he smirks and plays along as if he doesn't. Keeps on handling his meat, thumb swiping from time to time over the tip, using the precome that keeps leaking out there to get his length nice and slick. "Bitch, you ain't even looking at it."

"Oh, baby, yes I am," you purr, eyes still locked on his cock as you now reach for the white icing in which your birthday message is written, gathering a thick gob on your middle finger. You suck and lick it off slowly, watching him watching you watching him. "Damn. This creamy white stuff is delicious. Wanna see it all over my face, Dean? Or want me to swallow it?"

" _Shit_..." his breathing halts with a hiss, and at this point precome is glistening all over practically every inch of him—and there are a  _lot_  of inches on that thing—so much so that you can hear a subtle sloshing noise with each stroke of his fist. The rich, sweet scent of his arousal fills the car and you're not sure how much longer you can take this.

You clear your throat, because a ton of drool has gathered in your mouth and it feels like you're gonna choke. " _Fuck_ , Dean. Are you always so... um..."

He quirks up his brows again. "Hmm?"

Your eyes longingly follow the next dewy drop that is starting to leak. "Um... juicy?"

Dean smiles, and no smile has any right to look that hot. "Definitely not. This is all you, baby. This is what you do to me."

 _Oh, fuck that._ You swiftly shove the cake off of your lap and begin lunging toward him.

He tenses up, looking terrified again all of a sudden. "Wait—"

"I  _can't_ ," you pant, holding his thighs in place beneath your hands.

"Y/N, don't... I won't—" he stammers, trembling as the head of his cock is suddenly within mere inches of your mouth.

Taking a pause, at that, you gaze up toward his perfect face and purse your lips into something between a pucker and a pout. "You don't want?"

The movement of his pretty head just then is neither a shake nor a nod. "Oh, I want, but— _fuuuuuuuck_...!"

All you needed to hear was that he wanted it. Nothing could've stopped you once you knew that. And, just in case there was ever any doubt as to whether he would enjoy this, all that doubt is flooded out now as shot after shot of thick, hot come begins flooding your mouth, in basically the very instant that your lips had latched around the tip and swiftly sucked him down. Those lips are now smashed into the damp thatch of hair at the base of Dean's cock as he continues to explode, grabbing onto your head in a desperate effort to keep both you and him steady as his throbbing meat keeps pulsating powerfully down your throat, his own head falling back in an extended groan as he unleashes what has got to be his biggest ever load.

 _Fucking fuck_ , you think, once the ability to think returns to you some seconds later, as Dean starts slowly easing your mouth off his dick. The second it pops out of your mouth, you lean in to press passionate kisses all over it. To worship him and thank him for how fucking good he tasted. You can honestly die happy now, having devoured his divine cock and delicious come deep down your throat, having felt his meat pounding and stretching out and filling up your whole damn mouth. You had just been planning to lick up every sweet drop of all that dripping precome. Instead, you had immediately been fed full of the main fucking attraction.

While Dean is still heaving and panting in a speechless heap, you cobble words together eventually. "Did... uh... did that just happen?"

"Unph," he groans, and you can tell that he mistakenly thinks that your disbelief is about how he couldn't hold off his release. "Shut up. It was, uh... a really fucking long time coming."

That's so adorable that you just laugh softly and let him go on thinking it. But that's not what your disbelief is about; really, you're just reeling from the fact that you have finally,  _finally_  lived the dream of having Dean deep in your mouth. Your entire life, entire world, everything you've ever wanted and ever known just feels so different now.

You have something to say which just might comfort him a bit, if the little schoolboy in him is still embarrassed. "You know, Dean... you weren't the only one."

"Huh?" he pants breathlessly.

With your head still in his lap, lips still brushing against his half-hard shaft, you beam up at him, glowing for more than a few reasons, one of which is the fact that what you're about to say to him is true. "I came, too. Just from the taste of you."

" _Fuck_ ," he grunts, beaming down at you so sweetly that it's hard to even take his words as dirty. "Well, aren't you just a filthy little cockslut."

"Mm-hmmm," you hum, shifting your head to take the tip of his cock in your mouth again, lingering there in a long, sloppy kiss, smirking at him as you pop off of it. "Only for you, Dean. Only for this big, beautiful, perfect dick. Best damn thing I ever tasted."

He just keeps on beaming and softly strokes your head, and in this moment that expresses more than any words he could've said. 

You press another series of loving kisses all over his shaft. "But, well... it  _was_  over really fast," you point out with a bitchy little pout. "Not that I'm complaining, baby, but—is Big Dean ready to go again? Or... you know, instead I could lick your..."

If there's anything on earth that could compete with your obsession with Dean's godly gorgeous cock, it's your obsession with another fucking perfect body part of his, a little further back... but he has just cut you off mid-sentence before you can get to that. 

"Hell, no," he snarls, shifting in the seat till he has you pinned down again beneath the full weight of his body. "You had your cake and ate it, sweetheart. Now it's time for pie.  _My_ turn to take what I want."

Dean's mouth and hands start working magic on your neck and chest again, his movements less rough than when he'd first shoved you down into this position, this time somewhat slow and soft, yet somehow no less dominant. 

Moaning and sighing beneath his touch, you let yourself get high on how you've never needed anything so much. "Yeah? And what is it you want?"

"Mmm, think you know," he growls as one of his hands starts trailing away from your tits, working its way down. "This tight... wet... fucking perfect little cunt."

Before he even touches you there, you're pretty sure you came  _again_  upon the instant. It's mind-blowing knowing you can get off on just the sheer force of his dirty words.  _Only Dean Winchester_. 

And he's not done yet, either. "Gonna pop this pretty cherry with my tongue before this big cock fucks you up. That sound good, babe? God, I can't wait to taste that sweet pussy all over my face."

He doesn't need you to reply to know how good that sounds. Doesn't need words to know that you're so gonna die the moment he goes down. You've already died at least once tonight, after you had your cake and ate it, so to speak; and now you're bound to die again, and death has never been so sweet. Because you're dressed as cherry fucking pie and it's Dean's turn to eat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this! Always love to hear it if you did, so pretty please bring on the kudos and comments :)


	6. Such a Waste Not to Taste

"You know what I love about pie, baby?"

 _Fuck. Fuck._ Dean just growled the words against your gasping neck as his lips and teeth tease at your tender skin, wandering down toward your chest, way too slowly. If he keeps on talking like this, you're pretty sure you're gonna come before he even starts touching your cunt, let alone setting to work with his tongue...

"Love how it's so...  _sweet_..." he breathes as his mouth ghosts along your collarbone, tongue dipping into the hollow of your throat, making you moan, "and  _hot_... ripe and ready to eat..."

His plush lips have latched onto one of your tits by now. You have no idea how to describe the sound that just came out of your mouth.

You're stupid enough to look down, to see that Dean's gleaming green eyes are locked firmly on yours as his tongue traces circles around your stiff, sensitive nipple, moving in perfect sync with the hand that's been squeezing and groping the soft flesh of your other breast.

"The way it looks, so pretty when the perfect piece is right there waiting for me. Like it's everything I need," Dean murmurs as his other hand drifts down your bare skin until it hits the waistband of the skimpy skirt you're wearing. 

Your head had fallen back in unbearable pleasure just seconds before, but the heat of his touch compels you to look down again now, to meet his hungry eyes. Both of his big, strong hands have now dropped to your hips while his lips continue working magic on both of your tits. His gaze on you intensifies as his fingers tuck under the top of your pie-patterned skirt and your cherry red thong, as he starts slowly sliding them both down your thighs.

And then he shifts a bit—his flawless face starts inching down your body, and oh  _shit_ , you're seriously gonna die...

You're suddenly sharply aware of the sound and the feel of Dean's breathing, how it quickens as he descends. "The way it smells. Like home, like heaven," he purrs into your skin. Only Dean can make it feel like some kind of cardinal sin when he leaves a precious little kiss right on your belly button, inhaling deeply through nose and mouth alike as he licks his way down your abdomen. " _God_ , I could get high on the smell of cherry pie..."

In the meantime, you notice somewhere in the corner of your mind, he must've gotten frustrated with the process of taking off your skirt and thong. Was probably taking too damn long. His bare hands have apparently torn the cheap fabric to shreds, so as not to have to bother with the whole business of pulling them off of your legs.

And the violence of that act is so insanely  _hot_ —but you don't have much time to dwell upon that thought. Because now you are spread out before Dean Winchester, completely naked, and you feel truly alive for the first time. But also dead.

Even more so as his slick mouth slides down ever further, pearly teeth nipping at the tender skin inches above the center of your pleasure. And at the sinful words he utters next. "Love that first bite. The way it fucking bursts into my mouth, feeds me so good with all the sweet juices inside..." 

 _Mother of fuck_ —does this guy  _want_  you to die...?

Yeah, you're pretty sure he does, because next thing you know, the love of your life is fucking  _touching_  you there, his thumb flicking over your clit, thick fingers slipping down to trace the slick heat of your pussy lips, one at a time dipping inside your soaking slit before you even know what hit.

"Holy—" his breathing hitches with a sharp hiss, "... _shit_ , Y/N, so fucking tight. So wet already. This all for me?"

Your own breathing has stopped completely, but you know you need to speak. "Yes, sir," you moan, filled with the urge to sigh his name as you dare to glance down again into his gorgeous eyes, his perfect face still resting right over your core, sculpted shoulders anchoring your thighs as he plunges a second finger into your dripping wet heat. "Dean."

"Mmmm," he hums as his lips pucker into a kiss, the suction of it landing dangerously close to your aching clit.  _You swear you'll explode if he shifts down even a fraction of an inch..._  "You know what I love most about pie, babe?"

You really don't know how much more of this fucking pie talk you can take. This slutty costume was all your idea, though, so you know you're to blame...

And then it happens. Dean's delicious mouth makes contact with your clit, just as he suddenly slips three fingers into your throbbing slit, pumping deep inside it—and by the time you begin to gain some sort of hold of your senses again, his mouth is all over the same spot his hand is, loudly slobbering and slurping on your soaked up lips, his flawless features glistening where the faint light from outside the Impala shines across the slick of your juices, making it clear as day how explosively hard you just came. 

And then he fucking  _winks_ , because he's an evil son of a bitch, and  _holy fucking shit_ , you think, you are dying right now from just how much you love him. So much more than anyone has ever loved anything.

That wicked wink and the words he now speaks, as he tells you his favorite thing about pie—about the pie that he is eating out as if his life depends on it, all while he continues to devour your face with his eyes—get you off on the instant, all over again. 

"The taste," he says as you combust, shattered pieces of your love-drunk consciousness scattered all over the place. "God, I want it all over my face. So sticky and juicy and sweet... babe, I think I'm in love with this cunt. It's everything I want. Coming and squirting all over me like this, just— _fuck_ , Y/N, the way it lingers on my lips, clings to my tongue as I eat it right up..."

 _Um, what even are words anymore?_  Dean clearly still has full command over how to use words like some sexual sorcerer's spell, but your own language skills—well, they're shot straight to hell. Your brain is officially slush, all the little cells melted and mushed like a big sloppy serving of pie filling busting right out of its crust. All you can do right now beneath his fucking hands and mouth is tremble wildly, breathing crazy loud, moaning and screaming like some two-cent truck stop whore.

"Damn, sweetheart—getting me so hard—came already, you know, but I swear I could get off again on just these sounds you're making now. Fucking porn out of that pretty little mouth," he devilishly growls, pausing every few seconds to keep spouting off dirty talk while his tongue fucks your cunt, plunging deep in and out. "And those faces you make...  _God_ , just look at that face, princess. So freakin' gorgeous."

You are so beyond too far gone to form words to respond about now. But Dean should know that he's the fucking  _king_  of sex faces and filthy sounds. You basically explode upon hearing each low, rumbling groan from his throat, and it's all you can do not to die every time you see those long lashes flutter in bliss above his lust-blown emerald eyes, his whole head buried in the soaking heat between your shaking thighs.

"Tell me—anyone else ever done this to you, baby?" he asks, like he has any right to be asking questions while his pillowy lips keep on kissing you sweetly and screwing you over completely. "Anyone ever...  _touched_  or...  _tasted_  or...  _taken_  this sweet little pussy before?"

It's obvious that you can't speak—that's why he pauses then, mouth lifting suddenly off of your heat. His hands have shifted down beneath your ass by now, which has been serving the purpose of pulling your cunt closer into his lips for the past however many minutes, but right now he uses that position to dig his fingers into the skin of your cheeks, giving each a firm squeeze.

You whimper at the unexpected pressure, quivering in a rush of submission and pleasure as you give in to the power of his touch, words spilling from your lips in sweet surrender. "N-no one, sir..." you stammer, his dominant grip on your body and soul tearing you apart just as it holds you together.  _How the fuck does he do it. Only Dean Winchester._  Though breathless at how perfect he is, you still manage another soft whisper. "...ever."

Now that he's briefly stopped eating you out, you can see every inch of the proud, sinful smile that spreads across his slicked up mouth. "Goddamn. Can't believe how fucking lucky I am..." he breathes before diving right back in, lips and tongue vibrating against you vigorously as he hums and purrs. "Mmmn. Such a waste not to taste. Seriously, Y/N—no one—ever? You sure?"

He compels you to speak with another tight squeeze of your ass cheeks, harder this time, surely set to leave marks from each scrape of his strong, skillful fingers. " _Unphh_ — _yes_ , I promise, I... I've never wanted anyone but you, sir. All yours."

"Mmmm, that's right.  _Mine_ ," he snarls and sighs as his hands shift toward your hips, pulling inward to wrap your legs tighter around his head, five o'clock shadow grazing the soft skin of your inner thighs, murmuring a few more words before his tongue drives home so deep as if it's trying to get lost inside. " _My_  cherry pie. My perfect little whore."

Oh  _God_ —you can't even hear yourself scream as white hot pleasure instantly shoots from the tip of his tongue in a searing line straight up your spine, blazing through every last piece of your blown, blasted mind.  _Fucking heavenly hell._ No sensation in life has a right to be so damn divine. There's no way, simply no way, you think, you could  _ever_  come down from this high. 

But then—then you recall all of a sudden that thing Dean had said, and you realize—you realize the sin that he made you commit while he was eating you up.  _Oh, how dare that motherfucker let himself get off while you were too distracted to do your damn job..._

"Ughhh... w-wait..." you pant as he tenderly licks you through the aftershock of the earth-shattering orgasm that he just gave you. And fuck, that feels so fucking  _good_ , but you sure as hell can't let the bastard distract you  _again_. "Did you— _Dean_ , did... did you say you came?"

"Mmm-hmm," he hums as he nuzzles your pulsating cunt. "Twice, babe. Got this sweet cherry pie to blame."

It pains you to pull yourself off of his lips, but if there's anything more powerfully tempting than your own pleasure—the pleasure that Dean so perfectly gives—it's  _his_. Dean Winchester's pleasure is still, and always will be, what you fucking live for. You've only gotten one taste of the flavor of his pleasure, and you need more.  _So much more..._

"Whoa there, I ain't finished...!" he protests as your whole body suddenly shifts.

You ignore his complaint, lifting yourself up and then leaning forward against him with all of your weight, till his back is pressed against the far side of Baby, forcing him out of the way as you lower your face toward the slick leather seat. "Where the fuck is it."

"Is what?" he stupidly asks, realizing what you mean as you easily find what you're looking for, eyes shining bright at the sight of the sweet, precious treasure. He watches you claim it, a gasp of arousal escaping his lips. "Oh—holy shit..."

You mumble words into the leather beneath as you slurp all the pearly white come from the seat, sucking and scraping hungrily with lips and tongue and teeth. "Every—damn—drop that  _ever_  comes out of this big—perfect—dick...  _needs_  to be inside me. Or all over me.  _Mine_ , Dean."

Dean gawks down as you gather up some of his thick, sticky come with your fingers and dangle it over your lips, wagging your tongue like a bitch as you let it drip. "Good  _God_ , Y/N..." he groans, gasping again. The filthy whore in you is spurred on even more as you see his hand reach for his huge, throbbing cock. "That is— _unghh_ , that is  _so_  fucking hot..."

"So fucking tasty," you tell him honestly as you feed every ounce into your mouth, opening wide for a second so that he can see how fucking much there is— _this guy comes like some kind of sex god, seriously_ —just before you tilt your head back in bliss and loudly swallow it all down. Opening up again once that's done, so that he can see how good you did for him.  _All gone._ You smack your lips and swipe your tongue all over them. "Did you really think I'd let it go to waste like this, just spilled all over Baby?"

"I, uh... I guess I wasn't thinking at all, really..." he heaves as he keeps on pumping his fist up and down his stiff length, eyes not once leaving yours as he strokes himself more and more forcefully. "Was sort of busy, face deep in that sweet fucking pussy—can you blame me?"

You bite your lip through a coy little smile as you lower your face toward his dick, mouth dropping open on instinct as it hovers right over the glistening tip. "Oh, I could never blame you for anything, sir. You're too fucking perfect."

Dean mirrors your smile with his signature sexy smirk. "Is that so. You know..." he says, watching intently as your head bows down to press a few worshipful kisses all over his knuckles before sliding back up to the head of his cock, lapping up the dewy drop of precome that's leaking so beautifully there, then wrapping your lips over the sweet tip and setting to work. "I can think of a few ways to punish you for being such a greedy little whore. So damn desperate for all the come out of this cock. Bitching at me for getting off. Think you'd deserve it, slut? Was my come fucking worth it?"

 _Hoooly shit._ You are definitely not about to take your lips off his delicious dick, so you answer your gorgeous master with the eager moan that thrums from deep inside your throat and with the bulge of your unblinking eyes:  _Yes, sir—so fucking worth it. Please, I'm ready for my punishment._

"Is that a yes?" he teases, luscious tongue sparkling as he flicks it out over his lower lip, still slick and shiny with your juices. "Mmm, know it is. You naughty bitch. Begging for it with those big eyes, taking my dick so deep inside... such a dirty little princess..."

 _Yes, that's exactly what you are for him._ That and so many other things.  _And he's your king, your god, your everything..._

Dean is reading your mind, you can tell. Reads you so damn well. He knows that he is your whole fucking world. "Better be ready, babygirl..." he purrs as his hands frame your face, dominating your head as he pushes down  _hard_ on it, hips thrusting up brutally in the same instant to fill your whole throat with his meat, every delicious perfect inch. Oh, he's just getting started and you know it. In every goddamn way, Dean Winchester is gonna make you  _his_. 

"Bet you ain't ever been punished like this."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all as always for kudos and comments!! <3
> 
> Please do keep them coming and I'll keep Dean coming :)


End file.
